


only honest when it rains

by ephemeralstar



Series: maybe sprout wings [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Bonding, CHILL AS HELL, Gen, Pirates, australians are the PCs so some of the uhhhhh phrasing is representative of that, they're both sort of assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 04:03:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18930904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralstar/pseuds/ephemeralstar
Summary: “How are boats?”“Must you always ask it like that?”“Absolutely.” Dante says it with far more conviction than is rightly necessary, turning, leaning on the arm of their chair to fix the half-orc with as serious of a gaze as they can muster, “How are boats, Yin, how are they today?”“Buoyant.”





	only honest when it rains

There are three boats.

The sun rises across the waves, stretching it's golden rays like fingers grasping at the waterfront, illuminating labourers as they move like ants about their early morning work. Crates and barrels loaded with produce and supplies are being loaded on and off of ships, and he can hear the faint but indistinct sound of the sailors calling orders to each other. 

The ships are all different, two are cargo ships, dropping off or picking up goods, and the other is a transport ship, just giving it's passengers a night on land while they restock their supplies of food and fresh water. Ships like that we're often woefully underprepared, a competent bard or wizard could keep them fed and watered without the need for stopping, like this, but then again he's never known a bard or wizard to enjoy the open water the same way his crew of barbarians and fighters had, their nature too restless by half. 

The waves ebb and flow and the clear sky turns from it’s dusky gold to mauve to blue in the space of an hour. He finishes his drink, a cucumber water from the dispenser he keeps in his room, and swirls the ice around idly. He’s never much liked clear days whilst landlocked; on the ocean a clear sky is a blessing, but everything on land is so dull when the weather behaves; a storm’s not likely to pitch him into the ocean here, so he enjoys it well enough, adds a certain spice to the life he’s found himself in.

“Do you have to replace the cucumbers?” Dante’s voice brings Yin out from his contemplation, and he looks at the Genasi leaning against their shared bannister in confusion, “in your fancy water; you can control the water, but I’m yet to see you cast  _ control cucumber _ .” They smirk.

“You know very little about me.” Yin’s voice is low, an even monotone as he swirls the steadily melting ice in his glass; it’s melting faster with Dante only a few feet away, who is positively delighted at the half-orc’s words.

“Please, for the love of Gods, tell me you can cast  _ control cucumber _ .” 

Yin is quiet, watching as one of ships prepares to sail off, it’s crew members scurrying aboard, raising the gangplank. After a beat, he drinks the ice water that’s gathered, throwing the ice itself over the balcony. Carefully, he places the empty glass on the little wicker table beside his chair, and he leans back, humming thoughtfully, watching the ship depart. It’s on the smaller side, could easily be taken out in less than a minute if he came within fifty feet of it with intent, less if the day was less clear. The body of the ship bore no battle scars, it was either new or it’s crew was hardy enough to keep it protected; he’s willing to bet the former. Though he’d lost touch with his contacts on the ocean, he’s listened enough to the sea-faring patrons of the tavern to know that pirate activity had not lessened in his absence. 

Dante was still watching him.

“When the produce is delivered of a morning, Havoc puts aside some for me.” Yin explains, “yes, I replace them daily.” 

Dante hums low in the back of their throat, a little put out at such a mundane description.

“What do you do with the leftovers? The day old stuff that’s been floating all night?” They ask, flopping into their own deck chair; like Yin’s it’s appearance is wicker, though it’s been magically reinforced, heat resistant instead of strengthened like the orc’s.

“What do you assume I do with them?” Yin’s actually smirking a little at that, which is as close to wry as he gets; they appreciate it all the same.

“What you do with your cucumber slices is your business, weather boy,” Dante’s outright grinning, looking out at the docks too, knowing full well that the nickname grated on Yin’s nerves.

“You age me, Dante,” Yin sighs deeply.

“You’re already old,” they counter; their smile is all teeth, sharp and amused, and Yin’s fairly certain that it’s only the smell of the sea air that’s keeping his exhaustion at bay. “How are boats?”

“Must you always ask it like that?”

“Absolutely.” Dante says it with far more conviction than is rightly necessary, turning, leaning on the arm of their chair to fix the half-orc with as serious of a gaze as they can muster, “How are boats, Yin, how are they today?”

“Buoyant.” He response, deadpan, which seems to be enough for the Genasi, who leaned back, humming and nodding like they understood, like this all made perfect sense.

“Excellent.” 

A silence stretches between them, not unkind nor uncommon; for all the two were opposites, Yin and Dante made remarkable friends, and for a few moments there was relative peace and silence as they watches the rest of the town slowly coming to life before them. Yin’s eyes, however, remained on the two docked ships. There were more, of course, personal boats, dinghies, yachts, but they were house cats next to war elephants, and could not hold Yin’s attention.

“You recognise anyone down there?” Dante breaks the silence, drawing their attention away from where Ishramel had left the tavern, making his way down the road in a worryingly good mood. When they’re met with silence, Dante looks over at Yin, who’s giving them a disbelieving look, somehow only achieved by narrowing his eyes. “Like, anyone from one of your ships or anything?” Dante’s a little clueless as to why Yin’s still looking at them like he can’t quite believe the words coming out of their mouth.

“When you look down,” Yin started slowly, in a way that was distinctly condescending, and Dante’s jaw clenches at his tone, immediately set on edge, “do you recognise each individual ant?”

“They’re too small to-  _ oh _ .” After a beat, they lean back, arms crossed over their chest, rolling their eyes, “you don’t have to be a cunt about it, ‘ _ no _ ’ would have been fine.” 

This silence is distinctly less friendly, but Yin’s quick to break it.

“The only crew I care to see again is dead,” in an uncharacteristic moment of honesty, Yin looks to the Genasi, his gaze a little shallow; they’re still sulking, just a little, refusing to look at him, “and the crew left alive; the traitors who -” he pauses, actually hesitates, and Dante’s stoic expression falters a little, their curiosity betrayed when they turn to meet Yin’s gaze, “they will get what’s coming to them.”

“Dude, I know you’ve been on more than two crews,” they finally broke, and Yin sat back, looking out at the horizon but not really seeing. The breeze picks up a little, and it might just be the way the light hits his eyes, but Dante could swear they were fogging over, just a little.

“Only two mattered.” 

There’s a few ships on the horizon, and to Dante’s surprise, there’s clouds there that didn’t seem to be there before; Yin still seems to be in his own world, and Dante can no longer fool themselves into thinking it’s the light, Yin’s eyes are turning whiter with each passing moment. The clouds on the horizon are getting closer.  _ Stormbringer  _ indeed.

“Would you ever sail?” Yin’s voice is strangely level, like he’s not quite here, but Dante jumps at the chance.

“I know it seems,” turning words over in their mind, Dante’s bright, considering tone is enough to snap the half-orc from his daze, “ _ counterintuitive _ ,” they decide on, the flames that make up their hair flaring up for effect, “but I’m not completely adverse to the idea,” the way Dante speaks is so uniquely captivating; their gestures, turns of phrase, so easily charismatic and charming it’s almost painful. It’s hard for people who look as distinct as the two of them to appear affable, harmless even, though Yin’s never wanted to appear anything less than the power he wields, Dante is adaptable in ways he will never be able to fathom, but always be able to appreciate. Despite being well spoken, everything else about Yin ruins any chance he has at being listened to positively, or even without bias. Yin’s well aware of the power that runs just beneath the surface of their skin; they are great and terrible and elegant in equal measure.

Yin’s always been fascinated by those who had a way with words, and Dante is no exception. Now Dante’s off on a tangent; Yin’s gone back to watching the ocean and the clouds are receding from the horizon.

“Why do you stay?” 

That’s enough to snap Yin from where his mind was drifting. At his confusion, the surprisingly and genuinely curious Genasi gives a faintly amused smile.

“You obviously miss it, the ocean and shit, why don’t you just go back?” And before Yin can even get in edgewise, Dante’s waving off his protest, “and don’t gimme that shit about not affording a boat-”

“A ship.” Yin corrects automatically.

“A  _ ship _ ,” Dante rolls their eyes, “because I  _ know  _ you don’t buy shit, you’re almost as bad as Thorax.” 

“Nothing I want costs anything as meaningless as money,” Yin leans back in his chair, actually smiling, as if pleased with himself. Self-satisfied wasn’t an expression Dante was used to on him, it was a little unnerving.

“Yeah yeah,  _ whatever _ , so why do you stay?” And they’re leaning on the arm of their chair again, making idle conversation with their chin propped up on their hand, smiling a little like they already know the answer. Yin is quiet. “You actually like it, don’t you? You like being a landlubber.” There’s that grin they’re known for, sharp teeth, eyes shining with mirth, crinkling at the corners in a way that’s just a little endearing. 

“Much to my frustration,” Yin starts, shoulders sagged like he’s suddenly bearing the weight of the world, “the people I currently bear loyalty to are  _ not  _ the sea-faring type.” He sighed; Dante just smiles wider.

“You mean us, right? Or like, me and Rook, at least.”

Yin can stand their friendly teasing since they’re not especially wrong; his loyalty, once earned, is steadfast, and the Genasi’s jovial banter is did little more than endear Yin to them, not that he’d ever admit it. He’s always admired those who were charismatic, even if it had been turned against him like this. 

“Yes, Dante,” Yin finally admits, “I’m here because taking a Fire Genasi onto the open water would be, how did you phrase it?  _ Counterintuitive _ .”

“Well I appreciate it, weather boy, though I’d definitely love to go someday,” Dante, satisfied, looks out to the docks, to the ocean, and breathes in a lung full of salty sea air, “can I have some cucumber water?”

“Make your own.”

“Can’t be bothered.” 

They just sit there, in mutual silence, looking out at the dock.

There are two ships at the dock; a cargo ship, and a passenger ship. One day, Yin will have a warship to join them, and perhaps a Genasi first mate.


End file.
